


six years and none the wiser

by florieneofthesea



Series: this world we set on fire [5]
Category: Storm Hawks (Cartoon)
Genre: Aerrow/Piper only if you squint, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Just looking out for each other in general, Minor Injuries, i really don't know how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:56:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florieneofthesea/pseuds/florieneofthesea
Summary: Aerrow is somehow always injured and Piper is always there.or: their dynamic through the years.
Relationships: Aerrow/Piper (Storm Hawks)
Series: this world we set on fire [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1963522
Comments: 5
Kudos: 14





	six years and none the wiser

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting unfinished in my notes for a long time, I just wanted to try and look at Piper and Aerrow's dynamics as they basically grow up through a war together, hope it's entertaining!

_**fourteen.** _

Piper’s finished sobbing, screaming into the void of the sky at the Cyclonians, at the red ships, at the world who was so unfair. By now she’s lost her voice, it’s raw and scratchy and to her relief, Aerrow doesn’t ask any questions. He hands her water, from the stream nearby and moves around her in equal silence. Time blurs and when she comes to there’s a warm fire, some picked berries, a fish. 

It’s only in the morning she notices the gross, scabs on his arms, like he’d throw them in the sharpest pile of junk he could find and waited for the blood to dry, “Aerrow,” She’d whispered, voice still hoarse, “What happened to your arms?”

“Tripped over,” He mumbled, “Got scraped.”

“You should wash them, it’ll get infected.”

They’re both exhausted, and she sees him nod slowly and get up towards the stream. She also sees him sway and fall a little harder than necessary onto his knees to wash up. Piper is warm, comfortably by their fire, belly full of berries and fish, and she abandons it in favour of coming over to him. 

Aerrow flinches and scrambles away from her when she touches his arm, wide awake for a moment before he realises where he is.

“Sorry,” She whispers, “I’ll help you clean up.”

“‘S fine,” He mumbles, relaxing, “I got it.”

“You look really tired.”

She sits down next to him, and holds out her own hand, waiting. She figures he’s too tired to protest, and he folds, extending his arm to her. Piper is as gentle as she can be running the water over his arm, trying to get out any dirt that might cause infection. The water her flows quick, and she hopes it’s not full of anything worse than dirt, otherwise theydbboth be in a world of trouble. She dries them both up with her blanket, and they dragged back to their small camp and fall asleep almost immediately. Piper dreams of getting on a skimmer and tearing through the Cyclonians galleons. 

She doesn’t know what Aerrow falls asleep to.

* * *

  
_ **fifteen.** _

Finn’s piloting on the return from the Wayside, which isn’t unusual, but it’s rare enough that she squints at then for a moment extra just to make sure everything was in order.

Clearly, it wasn’t. Aerrow was clutching his nose, and his lower face was covered in blood.

Piper snatches up their medic kit and sprints out, sliding down the trunk of the willow and meeting them partway. 

“What in the Atmos have you done this time!” She exclaims and rushes to them.

“Finn got into a fight,” Aerrow mumbles as she stuffs a towel in his face.

“So why are you the one who’s bleeding?”

There’s no point in asking, this isn’t the first time anyways. Finn looks upset enough about the whole ordeal, she doesn’t push.

They help Aerrow back into their base, and sit him down on the nearest bench. He had the makings of a black eye too, maybe a sprained wrist, a couple broken fingers. 

“What did they say this time?” She asks softly, after sending Finn to fetch some fresh water.

“The usual.”

“The usual doesn’t make you pick a fight.”

He winces when she uncurls his fist and Piper can only sigh at his silence, “Well, did you win?”

He looks the slightest bit surprised. She doesn’t blame him, she’s not the biggest condoner of violence, but some nights that’s all she dreams about, revenge, blood.

“Think we knocked ‘em out,” Aerrow grins, and then a little more embarrassed, “Didn’t mean to, it just happened.”

Piper laughs a little and clears away the last of the blood. Finn comes back with a bucket of water from the bubbling pond, heaving it up onto the table “How bad is it?” He peers down at them.

“Oh it’s fine, maybe no flying for a while,” She nods to his wrist, “But nothing big.”

Both of the boys groan.

“No flying?” Aerrow is mournful.

“No way,” Finn whines, slumping back into his seat, “You know how bad he gets when he’s grounded.”

Piper only rolls her eyes, “Next time you pick a fight then,” She says, “Don’t get hit.”

They both grumble. Finn leaves to clean up their skimmer, and Aerrow lets her wrap up his broken fingers, and dab salve in his bruised eye. 

With the blood all gone he looks no worse for wear. His nose is thankfully unbroken, but his knuckles has suffered the brunt of it, skin peeling and raw and she hands him a small towel to bite on. The salve they have isn’t kind to open wounds, but it’s incredibly effective.

“Do we have to?” He borders on a plea.

“No other way Aerrow, unless you want it infected.”

He bites on the towel. Piper runs the salve over his knuckles and grimaces, she’s applied it over paper cuts herself before, the salve stings, like its eating at the flesh underneath. She does it as quick as she can, and hands him a glass of water. Aerrow blinks back tears as the stinging sensations dies down, “Thanks,” He murmurs, a little hoarse.

“Anytime,” Piper declares, standing to clear up the kit, “But please don’t break any bones.”

She has no idea how to fix them.

* * *

  
_**sixteen.** _

“So,” Aerrow sidles up to her as she’s pacing away her charts, clutching his wrist.

Piper sees the posture and sighs, standing up straight to set one hand on her hip and the other one jabbing him in the shoulder, “Stop. Getting. Injured! You need to be able to fly.”She exclaims, taking his hand in hers to examine the damage. Piper frowns, “Where did you get hurt?”

He looks a little embarrassed. Good.

“Um,” Aerrow runs the back of his neck, not quite meeting her eye, “Actually it’s uh, a paper cut,” He says sheepishly, “I was just wondering if we had a bandaid.”

She stares at him. A paper cut. Piper has to take a moment.

Aerrow takes the chances to elaborate just a little further, “It just really stings under my gloves.”

She feels a little relieved. It’s not serious at all. But then her exasperation’s flares up, all her worrying over a paper cut. Honestly. She should take a break soon. 

Piper huffs, “Unbelievable,” She says, trying to sound reprimanding but she can’t help the small smile at the sheer ridiculously ness. Piper let’s go of his hand and gestures for him to follow, “Come on, there’s some in the kitchen.”

* * *

**_ seventeen. _ **

She’s in luck, he’s broken a bone. And dislocated his shoulder, and has a deep, wicked straight cut across is forearm, only a moment or so away from having his arm just cut off altogether. 

It’s the best possible outcome she can imagine for anyone who goes up against the Dark Ace. He’d passed out when he landed back on the Condor, barely making it off his skimmer. It’s a miracle he was conscious enough through all the pain to even fly back to the ship. 

Piper examines the cut wound first. It’s been cauterised by the heat of the weapon, there was no blood, just a huge, burnt gash. He wouldn’t need stitches for that at least. The worst part was he broken arm, she wasn’t a real healer, external wounds she could deal with, especially since Stork had an exceptional collection of remedy recipes. But a broken bone? She has no quick fixes. 

When he wakes, the first thing she does is pop his shoulder back in place and he bolts right up from the shock of pain, turning away from her in a mixture of fear and betrayal. 

“Sorry,” She says a beat later, “I thought it would hurt less if you didn’t know it was coming.”

Aerrow relaxes when he gets a better look at his surroundings, “That’s cold,” He says, but there’s a small, tired smile a this lips.

His arm gets put in a sling and she bans him from flying until it’s properly healed. Aerrow grumbles, but knows better than to protest. Piper has no other solution for him, they’re still in transit, deep in the Graves Strip, and neither Zel not Starling were healers. The only thing she could do for him was give him some of that salve, to help the gash heal quicker. 

They should be safe soon, on Terra Borealis, he would have plenty of time to heal–is what she thinks until he comes back to their guest house on Borealis with six new bloody scratches on his non-broken arm, “Really? We’ve been here less than two weeks!”

“I wasn’t looking for trouble I swear!” He protests as she shoved him into a seat, “Junko said the Temples would be a good way to clear my head.”

“And you managed to what? Impale yourself on a fence?” She cleans away the blood and dirt a little more aggressively than she should have and regrets it immediately when he hisses in pain. She eases back on the pressure, “What happened?”

“There was a bird,” He says, sheepish, and she huffs. It’s not the full story, it never is.

“Must’ve been a big bird,” The six claw marks were wide and deep enough to warrant stitches. She lets him know, and Aerrow cringes at the thought and she feels no better. She can’t imagine how much it would hurt, to have to be stabbed a couple dozen times more with a needle in the name of recovery. But they’re not alone anymore, “Borealis has healers,” She says empathetically, “We should get you to one.”

Aerrow tenses up beneath her fingers. It’s hard to imagine that he’s afraid of anything, especially after seeing how he went after the Dark Ace. But there’s a thick hesitation at her suggestion, “I’d rather you do it,” He says a long moment after, and then, “Please.”

Piper opens her mouth to ask why, because she can think of a dozen reason why this is going to be a bad experience overall, but he squeeze her wrist, and she can’t refuse the desperation she sees on his face. She relents, “This is going to hurt.”

He bites on a towel without prompting and she gets to work. 

Thread, in, through, pull, out, through, pull, thread, repeat. 

The lines become thinner, less angry, and he spits out the towel, eyes watery. Piper lays a cool cloth over the arm, “For your sake I hope this is the last of it.”

He laughs, “Me too.”

* * *

_** eighteen. ** _

They’re at war.

Sometimes it’s easy to forget, when they’re all home on the Condor, it’s engines a gentle hum in the background, Junko’s sweetest desserts on the table, Finn’s least obnoxious songs on play, weapons abandoned in the hangar bay. It’s easy to forget why they’re here in the first place, why they can even call this ship home.

They’re at war. Really at war.

Cyclonian red is on the horizon, flanked by Carver, the traitorous bastard. Gold and blue streak past them, and she sees Harrier in the lead of a formation so perfect the textbooks might have to be revised again.

They don’t stay gold for long. Everything comes back rusted and burnt and bloody, or it doesn’t come back and all. Piper’s so practiced at this now that she can spot their silver skimmers miles away, and she counts them, one, two, three. It’s a small mercy they all come back. 

The injuries don’t bleed anymore. They burn. She almost prefers it, Piper’s never liked doing stitches, has always cringed when her needle inflicts more pain on already tender skin to try and seal up cuts. But now each injury is harder to judge. There have been pilots who’d come back with not a drop of blood, grinning and laughing after a hard won victory before collapsing on the way in, dying from invisible pains - internal bleeding, internal damage. 

Piper lands first and looks back. Finn and Junko follow and both shake their heads at her as they touchdown on the Condor, checking their arms and legs and turning each other around. Their uniforms are singed sure, but there’s no smell of burning flesh, no exposed skin. She throws them one of Stork’s cooling salves anyways. They drag themselves back in to the embrace of the Condor, to wash off the remnants of the fight. Piper waits by the hanger bay doors, watching the grey skies and the lone silver skimmer.

Aerrow always comes back last. Circling always one last time. Just in case. 

When he lands she passes him the salve as well, and gives him a careful once over. Aerrow musters the energy to give her a small, reassuring smile as he does a little spin for her. Piper’s breath catches when she sees the gash on his upper back, just by his shoulder blade, skin irritated and she opens her mouth to ask when, how long ago, shallow or deep, but he beats her to it.

“Recent, from the last guy we took down, ten minutes ago maybe? It’s shallow,” Aerrow says, setting his arms back down and taking the salve she’s offering, “What about you?”

Piper shakes her head, and turns as well, “I didn’t get hit.”

“Good to hear,” Aerrow pats her shoulder and strolls past her like he’d just come back from a holiday trip to Neon, throwing and catching the salve as he went, careless as always. She can only pinch the bridge of her nose and watch him go, hoping it’s the last time it happens, and that the slashes go no deeper than ‘shallow’.

* * *

**_ nineteen. _ **

Piper hasn’t seen them in over a year now. The first thing she noticed as she steps off the refugee ship is the Condor. She pushes her way through the crowds and towards her friends, excitement and anticipation crawls up her neck and when she finally gets past the last wall of people Junko swoops her up in a hug and a bellow so loud even the birds stop for a moment. Then she’s set back down on her feet and hears Finn’s same obnoxious screech and waves to him and Stork on the bridge eagerly. Automatically she scans for signs of Aerrow, but the only red thing for miles are the crates of fire stones stacked precariously on top of each other. 

She turns to Junko, almost overlooking the green eyed figure next to him.

“Where’s–“ She gasps, “Aerrow!”

The person in question grins back, “Hey there Piper.”

She drops her bags and pulls him into a crushing hug, nearly bowling them both over into the crowd. The first thing she notices is his hair, it’s pitch black, no wonder she didn’t see him the first time round. The next thing she notices is the scars.

There’s one that comes a little too close to his right eye, stopping just short of blinding him, and another coming up from his jaw to his lip, both of which clearly have never been stitched up. She touches the muted red line tentatively, the audacity, “What happened to your face?!”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m doing great Piper thanks for asking, how ‘bout you?”

“It was perfectly fine before I left,” She insists and it earns her a chuckle. He suddenly looks a lot older than nineteen, maybe it was the hair.

“Had a run in with some nightcrawlers before we figured out they’re allergic to solaris crystals.”

“Let me guess, you just let them scab over and hope they didn’t get infected.”

“Uhh,” Aerrow doesn’t meet her eye as they walk up to the Condor, “Maybe, you can’t prove it though.”

“I can tell you never bothered to get them stitched up.”

He shrugs, “I don’t like it when people touch me.”

Piper nods along, she’s figured out after so many years that he has an aversion to physical contact. Physical contact outside of combat at least. He has absolutely no issue with throwing or receiving punches, but apart from that his comfort zone is limited to hugs from a small selection of friends. It was nice to be included in that circle, but it also meant that he would rather bleed to death or let cuts get infected than go see a healer. 

“Even if they’re trying to help?”

“Dunno, I always feel like they might stab me in the eye with the needle instead of trying to help.”

“You let me do it.”

“I trust you,” He says simply.

Well, of course he did, they were friends after all. But it was nice to hear out loud, in his voice. Aerrow winces a little as he readjusts the strap on his shoulder and it doesn’t go unnoticed, she narrows her eyes, “There’s more isn’t there?”

“No,” He says far too quickly.

“No what?”

“No...there aren’t any more?” He grimaces after he finishes that sentence, “There’s a couple more,” He amends, “Nothing serious.”

“Really?”

Aerrow strategically chooses to keep his mouth shut but she shoots him a practiced glare of disapproval. 

He gives in, “Okay fine you can have a look but please don’t ground me, we’ve been stuck here for weeks without proper wind, it’s only just started to pick up now.”

“You can still fly without the wind, that’s what engines and crystals are for.”

“But it’s not the same!”

“You’re just being picky.”

They make it to the bridge and she accepts the disinfectant from Stork as a way of greeting and throws an arm around Finn, before spraying the disinfectant over her whole arm.

“Wow, rude,” Finn flips her off with a grin and she chucks the bottle at his head.

Junko joins them shortly after and the rest of the day is spent catching up. So much had happened in that year they were apart. All four of the boys were also split up for a couple months, being dragged off in different directions by Atmosia and the Council before eventually finding a way back to the Condor. 

Aerrow hadn’t left the frontlines. Atmosia had him stationed firmly on the northernmost part of their offensive, mostly because there was no one else that could match the Dark Ace in aerial combat. He’d been out on gruelling campaign after gruelling campaign while posters in his image were spread around in the South to rally war efforts. And while they did increase morale, they also had the side effect of making him somewhat famous and given his red hair, very easy to spot. Which is why now, his hair is pitch black and he’s almost always in a hooded cloak.

“He has fans, it’s so funny,” Finn cackles.

“It’s fine until someone throws their baby at me.”

“Oh my god they did what?”

Aerrow grimaces, “I got my hair dyed right after that.”

“That one was weird,” Junko agreed, “Everyone else was really nice.”

“Nice only if you like people trying to suck your soul out of your body,” Stork shudders.

“As in, a ton of people want a kiss,” Finn says with the maddest grin on his face.

Piper giggles and when she turns to see his reaction, Aerrow’s grimace only deepens and he takes a shot of the Saharran spice gin, “I’ve been traumatised enough let’s move on.” 

They spend the rest of the day talking and drinking and eating and then having to leave the tavern when Junko and Finn fall asleep. Stork and Aerrow prop up Junko while she half drags half carries Finn all the way back to the Condor where they dump the pair unceremoniously on the bridge’s seats. As soon as the job is done Stork lies himself on the floor with a blanket and salutes then before resigning himself to a dramatic death, and then passes out. Apparently, the tall glasses of clear drink he’d been going through all night wasn’t water.

“I’m not that tired,” Piper says, “Are you?”

“Nah,” He says and drapes the blankets over Junko and Finn, “I only had one drink.”

Piper had been watching him all night. Something was wrong with his shoulder, and years of experience told her it was recent and probably poorly treated, “Alright, let’s see what you’ve done this time.”

“On second thought I am kinda tired out today maybe–“

She raises an eyebrow at him, “Aerrow. You did promise didn’t you?”

He relents, and as soon as the boys are all tucked in properly, they make their way to the medical bay. 

Aerrow pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion and she doesn’t even have the time to feel embarrassed because half his body is covered in white gauze, “Please tell me that’s just for support and not actually stopping you from bleeding to death.”

“Lucky for you I got hit with crystal weapons this time, no blood,” He says cheerily. That was both good and bad. At least there was minimal chance of dying from blood loss or infection, the heat of energy blades would’ve cauterised his wounds. Bad though because getting burned by crystals can have seriously unpredictable effects and having some of your insides fried doesn’t tend to sit well. 

“How long have you had these on?” She says, referring to the bandages.

“Um, a couple days, I think.”

“That’s a little gross you should change them everyday.”

“In my defence I only got here yesterday.”

She fetches the fresh gauze from the cupboard and gestures for him to sit, “Yesterday? Where have you been? You weren’t with the others?”

“Nah, I was still on the front, Ravess caught us out in the open, not sure how she found us, I think it was an accident but it’s got the Council shaken up,” Aerrow starts to unravel some of the bandages around his chest and ribs, “I got stuck there because of it.”

Of course he’d been fighting the whole time. Damn the Council to the Wastelands, at this rate he’d be worked to death. She bats his hands away at the last few layers, he’s always too careless with them and never fails to take off the dried blood and some of his skin when he removes his bandages. Piper sits in front of him and peels them off as gently as possible, hauling a cloth dipped in warm water to help ease the transition and quite literally save him some skin. It’s easier to be this close to him when she has a job to do. Aerrow’s always been attractive, she realises belatedly. He’s still talking, bringing her up to speed on the state they were in and thankfully oblivious to her internal struggle.

Piper finally gets rid of all the old gauze and throws it in a heap on the ground. She hands him the cloth to wipe the wounds clean while she picks out some salves. Stork seemed to have added a few to his collection, but she reaches for what's mostly familiar. 

“Skies, what the hell happened?”

After cleaning, the wounds looked so much worse. There’s a cut running up his ribs that looks almost surgical, it’s unnaturally straight and looks as if someone used a ruler to make the cut. The other one is a wide, unfocused slash that reaches from his collarbone to his hip. Both are relatively new, she can tell because they’re still red and raw. 

“Long story.”

“We have time, does it still hurt?”

“A little, mostly if I stretch.”

She comes closer to examine the wounds, “Crystal weapons yeah? What happened? These look awful.”

“I just got unlucky,” Aerrow says nonchalantly, “Skirmish,” He doesn’t offer much detail, and being purposely vague. She's almost glad for it. It hurts enough as it is to see him have to endure these marks. 

Piper presses her lips together then gently pushes him down to lie flat on the bed, “This is going to sting a bit.”

“When does it not,” He sighs dramatically and bites into the towel.

Piper warms the salve with her hands before applying it as non invasively as possible.

“Stitches?” He mumbles through the towel.

“Definitely.”

She’s numb to this process by now. The red lines get thinner and thinner as she works and by the end of the hour she’s finished and hands him a glass of water. Piper keeps him lying flat, if he sits up now and moves around he might aggravate the stitches and cause more trouble. Reluctantly, he settles back down, “Thanks Piper.”

“I’m starting to think you do this on purpose.”

“Hey! Getting stitches hurts almost as bad as getting stabbed, I’m trying my best to stay out of it.”

“But somehow, you’ve got more of them than Finn, Junko, Stork and me combined.”

He sticks out his bottom lip petulantly, “Only because everyone wants to shoot me down first.”

“Comes with the fame,” She teases and he groans, rubbing his eyes, “Is it that bad?”

“It’s bad, there aren’t any perks. I’m either getting sniped in the air or having to dodge people on the streets, no wonder Carver went off the rails.”

Piper hums as she packs up the med kit, she can’t resist, “Well, at least there are cute girls right?”

He sits up and looks utterly betrayed, “Not you too!” He exclaims in the same moment she shouts for him to lie back down.

“You had one job!” Piper says and shoved him back down to ensure the stitches haven’t been disturbed. Thankfully not, but she levels a hard glare at him, “Stay still, honestly, I ask one question and you almost ruin an hour’s work.”

Aerrow is a bit sheepish and settled back down carefully, “Sorry,” He murmurs softly.

“So, no cute girls?” 

“You’re worse than Finn.”

“That’s insulting,” She can’t help but laugh though, “Answer the question.”

“No,” He says immediately, and then backpedals, “I mean yeah sure everyone is um, nice? I’m just not...interested.”

Piper tuts, “Not good Aerrow you’re breaking hearts. How is that good for the Free Atmos?” She says but a small part of her is glad he’s not interested. She doesn't spend time thinking about why she feels that way.

“I got this talk from Finn already please let me off the hook it’s embarrassing.”

She takes pity on him, the poor thing is blushing, “Alright alright, since I’m so nice, I’ll let you get some rest, just don’t move or I’ll invite a fan on board.”

His face twists, “You’re awful.”

* * *

“Why is he always in the medical bay?” Dove hovers over her, blocking out the harsh midday Saharran sun.

Piper frowns. Her mind automatically goes to Aerrow but last time she checked, he’d been in the bazaar with Finn, a decidedly low risk event, “Who?”

"Who do you think?" Dove raises an eyebrow, “Which one would drive straight through a sandstorm?”

She jumps to her feet, a little outraged. The audacity. She’d just patched him up from their last encounter with Cyclonians, and he’s running headfirst into storms when she and Stork explicitly said no intense exercise. Piper smacks her clipboard down and startles Dove.

“Oh non, I don’t think I was supposed to tell you”

Piper grits her teeth and grabs her staff, “Did he tell you to keep it a secret?”

“Not exactly, he just said it was a little scratch, nothing to be worried about, but then on my way out I saw the nurses wrangle him into a room so I assume it’s more than a scratch,” Dove says, and then in a more amused tone, “Unless of course, the nurses plan on ravishing him.”

Piper coughs, “What?”

Dove is oblivious to her odd reaction, “Hmm? You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” 

“All the girls are in love, they’re lining up to try and get a piece of him,” Dove cackles, “Ah, I admit he’s cute, but too skinny for me.”

Piper’s clearly been outside for too long because the first thing she says is, “He’s not that skinny anymore,” which is true, he had filled out nicely once they’d all stopped rationing every bit of food that came their way, and of course, hours spent in the air and on the move have definitely helped.

Dove‘s smile grows bigger, “Ah, well, unlike you mademoiselle, I haven’t had to chance to see our resident hunk shirtless, yet. Do give more details.”

There’s a heat rising in her cheeks now that’s not because of the sun, “It’s not like that,” She says, “I help him with his stitches.”

“And you’re the only one,” Dove says gleefully and clasps her hands together, “The girls are jealous because he won’t let anyone else come near them.”

“That’s– Maybe he just doesn’t like physical contact.”

“He let’s you do it! I just saw him smack six Cyclonians out of the sky yesterday as well so pardon me if I call birdshit on his 'no physical contact' excuse."

”You’re doing this on purpose! You know what I mean,” Piper grabs her bag and dusts off the sand, “I’m going over, I’ll be back.” 

“Don’t tell him it was me who tipped you off!” Dove calls as she trudges up the dunes, “I like being considered his friend!”

“Our secret then!” She yells back over the hot wind.

* * *

“Going somewhere?”

Aerrow leaps a full foot in the air, “Piper! When did you get here?”

“Just then, a little bird told me you went out.”

“Short ride,” He says as he tucks one arm behind his back, “Nothin’ major.”

“Really? Then you won’t mind me doing a check up.”

He struggles with this for a moment, she can tell he’s trying to figure out how to wiggle out of this one, but there’s no chance, and he relents, gesturing vaguely towards the door with his other arm, “After you.”

Piper ducks into the medical bay and drops her stuff in the corner of the room. She notices absently that some things are out of place, “Looks like someone else has been in here today,” She comments.

“Oh yeah, a kid, came in for bandaids.”

She turns to him finally and sets her hands on her hips, “I’m guessing that arm’s gonna need more than a bandaid, let’s see it.”

Aerrow hesitates, “Okay okay, but you have to promise not to be mad.”

“When am I ever mad?”

“You’re always mad when I come in here.”

“Only because it's from something stupid, show me.”

“Well uh,” He brings his arm forward sheepishly and she gasps, “This happened a couple hours ago.”

His arm is wrecked. It’s cut up from wrist to shoulder and completely bloodied, she didn’t know how she missed it when she first saw him, it’s difficult to tell what was skin and what was fabric, “Aerrow! What the hell happened?! Did you stick your arm in the Condor’s engine again or what?”

“Hey that was–“

“Sit.”

He shuts up and sits down on one of the cord and obediently holds out his arm for her as she sweeps up all the necessary materials. Warm water, lots of tissues, lots of towels, disinfectant, the whole lot. Piper manoeuvres his arm to rest on a small raised table and sits opposite him. She peels off the fabric of his sleeve first, and bats away any of his own attempts to remove the cloth. He has a habit of just ripping the damn thing off and taking more skin with it. When she does get most of it off, she has a better picture of the absolutely disaster he’s gotten himself into this time. It looks like something’s tried to methodically slice up his arm, sharp red lines arc all the way up his arm, and some are deep.

“You could’ve lost your arm,” Piper says as she starts to wipe away as much blood and dirt as possible and disinfect everything, “What did this?”

“Sand scorpion? Sand worm? It was like a mix, lots of pointy arms, sand centipede?”

She only sighs, “Of course, I’m starting to think you do this on purpose.”

“I don’t,” He protests, “I hate being stuck in here as much as you hate having to patch me up.”

“I don’t hate it.”

Aerrow blinks at her, “You don’t?”

“Why would I?”

“You always complain about me.”

Piper rolls her eyes, “I complain because you can be insufferable when you’re not allowed to fly.”

Aerrow opens his mouth to defend himself but thinks better of it, he knows he’s can be a damned nuisance when he’s stuck in the infirmary. Not a single bone in his body knows how to stay still, “Oh,” He says eventually.

Piper huffs and focuses on the task at hand. He’s obviously already tried to clean up the blood and wash out the dirt, but hadn’t gone any further even though there were plenty healers milling about, “How long ago was this?”

“Couple hours maybe?”

“And you didn’t think to get it checked up sooner?”

“I mean, I thought about it, but didn’t go through with it.

Piper thinks back to her and Dove’s conversation, “Why not?”

Aerrow shrugs a little, “Didn’t seem that bad.”

“Someone told me they saw saw some healers come to help you though.”

"Dove? Damn,” He mumbles, “Knew I shouldn’t have told her.” 

Well, technically she didn't tell Aerrow it was Dove. He'd guessed it by himself. Piper doesn't explicitly confirm nor deny it, "Why not? Because she’d tell me?”

He’s a bit guilty, looking at the panels on the floor, “Didn’t want to disturb you," Aerrow mumbles

“Oh please,” Piper says, her tone light and prodding, “I’d rather get waken up in the middle of the night then come in the next morning to find you dead,” She jokes and gives him a smile he doesn’t reciprocate. Maybe that wasn’t the best example to give.

“I won’t die,” Aerrow says quietly, almost like he’s trying to reassure her. On any day, she would really like to believe that, but they’re at war. It’s naive to think he’d be impervious, as much as it seems like he is.

Piper exhales, I don’t know Aerrow, sometimes...sometimes you come back in a really bad state.”

“I come back though.”

“I really wish you didn’t have to leave in the first place,” She says, and surprise herself with the admission, “I get worried is all, sometimes,” Piper applies some of the salve. While Stork’s salve was incredibly effective, it also hurt like hell to apply and Aerrow hisses as she smooths it over the red lines on his arm. When she’s satisfied with the salve, she takes out the sewing kit. Some of those cuts were going to need stitches. 

Aerrow bites down the towel without prompting and she gets to work, disinfecting the needle and then closing up the first of three deep cuts. Slowly, the lines get thinner, and less angry, and when the final stitch is in place and tied off she tugs the towel from his teeth and hands him a glass of water and a tissue. His eyes are a little watery. Piper herself, even after all these years, can’t imagine being on the receiving end of stitches.

“Thanks,” He murmurs, and sets the glass down, “I really don’t do this on purpose, I didn’t mean to worry you, sorry.”

“I know you don’t, part of the job description I guess, just...be careful.”

That brings a familiar grin to his face, “When am I not?”

* * *

_**t** _ _**oday.** _

They sit on the edge of the Condor's landing strip watching the sun set. She breathes in.

The air is still heavy with smoke, and ash, and sweat and blood but there are clouds gathering on the horizon. One of Stork's instruments predicts rain, a storm. Piper wishes it would come faster, so it could drown out the rest of the grime and replace it with the freshness of rain. She lets her shoulder's slump and her posture weaken, kicking her legs in the air and watching the skimmers flit about without having to worry about being shot out of the sky anymore.

It rains the day that Cyclonia falls.

Aerrow comes to sit next to her, handing her an umbrella to stave off the light shower, even though they're both damp from the suddenness of the storm. He doesn't say anything, but she hears a _thunk_ and a _click_ and then feels his hand on hers as he pulls it into his lap, and presses a warm wet cloth into the bright red cut on her palm. She'd forgotten about it in the heat of the battle. Piper vaguely remembers it was backlash from using a firebolt crystal for the Binding.

He applies the salve, one of Stork's newer creations, cool on her skin and slightly numbing. She can't feel the sting of the open wound anymore, it's hidden under a slight buzz, and the gauze that's wrapped around it feels only rough on the back of her hand.

Aerrow ties it neatly, repeating a motion she belatedly realises that she's practiced on him numerous times, "How's that?"

"It's good," She says, and despite the cold of the rain she feels comfortable, sitting here, basking in their victory, "Thank you."

**Author's Note:**

> Some things from my AU of the Storm Hawks are mentioned! Terra Borealis is a terra I imagine is very far north of the Free Atmos, the Sky Knight of Borealis is known as Ouzel (or Zel), and they're called the Borealis Knights. The Graves Strip is basically an area of the Atmos between the Southern Atmos and Cyclonia.


End file.
